My lovely dad used to call this the in-between time. It’s a good description for this period between Christmas and New Year: a waiting time, a still time, a time between time. There’s a sense of expectation in this short time, a sort of holding of breath as we anticipate the end of something stale and stagnant, the old year. And the start of something new and exciting, the New Year. Or at least a little new. It’s a hopeful time. Of course, the New Year kicks in with the ferocity of a mule within hours, days, and everyone just carries on carrying on and it all goes back to normal, or a version of new normal, the New Year normal, and we breathe out and lower our expectations and it all goes back on the merry-go-round of life. 2018 will come and go, as quickly as 2017 did, and as quickly as 2019 will. As children, we rarely went on summer holidays like white people went on holiday. They went to the seaside for languid beach holidays in which they swam in the sea or lay on the sand in t...

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